


turn a monster into a man (love)

by mitikune



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Confessions, Depression, Forgiveness, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, Moving On, Prisoner Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), but also not forgiveness at some points definitely absolutely not forgiveness too also that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitikune/pseuds/mitikune
Summary: So, Dream wound up in prison. After having a lot of time to reflect, George and Sapnap come to visit. They aren't exactly happy, and it leaves Dream wounded and with a lack of care for himself. That is, until the least expected person comes to visit: Tommy.In other words: the one where Dream is a depressed prisoner that's will to live is sparked again by the 16-year-old that he'd traumatized.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 447





	turn a monster into a man (love)

If ever Dream felt like his life was some kind of sick prank, it was now. Facing the facts, he couldn’t even believe this was real life. He’d commissioned Sam to build this prison for him, and was so heavily involved with the building process, being sure that he knew for a fact that once someone was secured inside that obsidian vault, there was zero getting out. Besides Sam himself, there was no one that knew more about this prison and its inner workings than him. 

That’s why he never expected he’d fall prey to its trap. 

He’d learned that the prison was so much more threatening from the inside than it was from the outside. Intimidation was an important factor, Dream had remembered telling him; if someone was too afraid to look at the building, they’d never want to set foot inside, and therefore, crime rates (or what Dream considered to be crime) would plummet. 

In all actuality, Dream had never wanted to use the prison. It was so big, took so long to set up properly, and couldn’t be replicated; and it was only built for one. Dream didn’t want to just waste that on anyone that pissed him off; he knew he had to be careful, and absolutely could not impulsively lock someone up, not unless they really deserved it, no matter how tempting it was, and by god, had Tommy made it tempting. 

He remembered hearing the murmurs, the theories, all the different comments about who it was that Dream was planning on putting inside of that prison. None of them were correct, because he hadn’t built it with anyone in mind. Even Sam had asked who on Earth had done something as wrong enough as to be put inside of a hellscape like that, and Dream had simply smiled and reminded him in a not so kind manner that it was none of his business to ask questions, and it was his job to do as he had been paid to do.

There were a lot of things that surprised Dream about the prison. One, he knew it was a huge building. Even from the outside, it was clear that it was nothing but a huge, winding maze of traps and cages and preventative measures. It was no small building from the outside by any means. But the second Dream stepped inside, he was reminded just how small he was, and how monstrous the building around him was. Each room was about three times bigger than Dream could’ve ever imagined.

Two, it was so dark. He supposed it made sense, as it was all built from blackstone and obsidian and basalt, but there was so much lava everywhere that he’d figured it’d balance out. Lava on the exterior through glass as decoration, lava on the inside, to keep the prisoner secure, something he’d soon enough become very, very familiar with, yet still, the prison remained with a sense of dark despair.

The thing that shocked him the most, however, that should’ve seemed obvious thinking back on it now, was that the prison was hot. At all times, Dream felt like he was sweltering in an oven. Feeling like the forgotten crumb of food that slipped between the cracks of the pan and scorched itself against the bottom of the oven, forever forgotten, besides a bitter stinking reek of a reminder whenever the oven was flamed to life again, whenever someone needed and expected something of it.

He’d thought the analogy silly at first, until he realized how painstakingly accurate it was. He once stood so tall and proud, a necessity for the SMP’s survival in more ways than one ( _ someone _ had to take care of the server upkeep fees), and now he’d managed to slide through the cracks, falling only to be burned alive by his own will and greed for power. Something that had smelled as sweet as freedom and peace of a blissful survival multiplayer server had turned into a hideous, burning reek that started, ended, and could be entirely blamed upon himself.

It was oddly beautiful, the first time he’d watched the bridge be retracted to the other side of the vast lake of crackling embers and hot fumes, and the sound of clicking dispensers filling his ears. He’d bent forward around the pure Netherite blocks to watch the lava rain down from the ceiling, and he’d laughed. His glorious creation, working flawlessly. 

He hadn’t been so sadistically pleased with his grand idea after about forty-eight hours of nonstop, smothering heat, busying himself by trying to will himself to see faces or pictures in the differing color tones of the lava, and estimating just how long it would take for the pages of the book he’d left atop the podium’s pages to begin to curl in on themselves and give up from the continuous heatwave. 

Sometimes, he walked directly into the lava. It burned and ate and melted the skin from his bones, and yes, it was painful. But it reminded him of a friend of his, a man that claimed to have been “birthed from fire”, one that initially sided with Tommy in the original disc war. But after that, he’d become the unstoppable, unwaveringly loyal force at his side. A good PVPer, of course. A strong, boar-headed, stubborn man, absolutely. A man who sided with violence, yet still held onto things like his own pets and sentimentality… yes. A good friend? Undoubtedly, and without question. 

For a moment, as the world faded around him and all that remained was the painful removal of melting skin from his bones, the lava popping and hissing around him, he could close his eyes and picture his face. If he tried even harder, right before he was reset, he could imagine that the pain was nothing but a mere hug from the man made of fire. He wondered if, subconsciously, his hugs had always burned. It was on a particularly lonely night that he realized they hadn’t, and  _ then _ the question became: when had the flicker of warmth at a kind gesture from a friend, turned into a wildfire strong enough to burn him alive from the inside out? It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on.

He would’ve preferred it to be cold and desolate, where he didn’t have the chance to torture himself with thoughts of what used to be, what could have been, if only he hadn’t let his desire for power consume himself. Freezing and dark, where he could close his eyes and imagine that he’d made off like Techno, living a life in the sub-zero arctic, in  _ voluntary _ exile, far away from the prying eyes of the public, and bright lights of the city. 

Technoblade. 

Technoblade had always been one that Dream had kept a close eye on. His dedication, to put it frank, was concerning. Dream knew Techno posed a dangerous enemy, one that even he had a good reason to fear. Dream had creative mode on his side, if worst came to worst, not that he made a habit of using that in fair fights--but Technoblade had zero access to such luxuries, and if Dream wasn’t kept on his toes, could very nearly outmatch him materialistically and in preparation. 

Techno was full of surprises both in prior planning, and in action. Dream was constantly learning and taking notes from him, though he’d never admit it. In winning and in loss to him, Dream always came away with a sense of determination, eagerness, a willingness to learn and practice and dedicate himself to trying to outmatch him. He hated to admit it, even and especially to himself, but he cherished their rivalry. It was some of the only fun he truly had in the server anymore, after he’d become god and slowly lost all care. 

What was even better, was that Dream had managed to recruit Technoblade intoowing him a favor. Said favor was one he’d been saving for a life or death situation, like the one he’d gotten himself into hours prior. He’d never imagined that he’d be wishing that he’d had the chance to cash in that favor when it mattered. He’d been so cocky, so sure; it was all going perfect, according to plan… He’d held them within the palm of his hand, and right when he’d been about to close his fist, Punz, the man that’d been on his side since the beginning came through that portal with the sorry excuse of being “paid more”, and then…

Everything else, truthfully, had been a blur. More and more people tumbled through the portal, until nearly the whole SMP was there. But there was one moment in particular that Dream had seared into his mind: Sapnap taking Beckerson from the item frame, holding the bucket in his hands as he stood in front of the entire crowd. It was just the two of them, just like it had been in the beginning. Sapnap stood, he stared, he spoke no words. The silence was crushing--until a familiar, shrill, childish, British voice cut through. He still can’t bring himself to fully process or believe that he’d been knocked off his pedestal by two sixteen year olds. Tubbo, the ex-president of L’Manberg, the country he’d stopped at nothing to destroy and reduce to a mere crater; and...

TommyInnit.

He’d been a nuisance from the moment he joined the server, and had gotten himself banned within twenty minutes. It’s funny to Dream to think about now. He’d been cast away, the problem eradicated. But, of course, Dream had caved, giving the child another chance into the server with the premise of proper behavior. Not like he’d know that this decision would ultimately change the course of the entire server, but, sometimes, he does give himself the credit of acknowledging that he did see the spark of potential in that boy’s blue eyes. An impish twinkle in baby blues, and a cocky, braces-laced grin that somehow suited him so perfectly. It was so purely Tommy. Dream saw something in that boy.

He just never could’ve known it would’ve lead to two days later, there was a fucking war, because of course there was, and months later, that child would land him in the most high-security prison Minecraft’s ever seen. Dream never could’ve expected that a silly war over two music discs would only be the first of many. Looking back on it, maybe he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was.

Tommy was unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. He acted on impulse, on emotion, on irrationality, and in fits of passion. Each and every time Dream thought he finally figured out how the gears in his brain turned, Tommy threw him for a loop. That never stopped him from keeping one step ahead, not until the very end, anyway. First, it was the discs. Who could’ve ever guessed that Tommy cared so much about two music discs? Sure, they were rare, but absolutely not impossible to get. He’d argue that grinding for Netherite ultimately took longer and was more valuable than the discs that had a chance to be found in any spawner. The next surprise was that Tommy was willing to give those discs up, the things he’d fought his entire life for, for another human life.

With Tommy, came Tubbo. Quietly, Dream had always been envious of their bond. Best friends, yes, but on a whole other level. They knew each other’s exact movements, thought processes; sometimes Dream was convinced they could even read each other’s minds at the drop of a hat. A single look, and they’d planned out entire battle strategies. Dream didn’t fear many things on this server, but he feared them. If only he’d have trusted that fear instead of dismissing it as irrational. If he’d only paid a little more attention to his intuition, maybe he wouldn’t be here right now.

And with that thought, came the terrible, crushing realization that he had  _ had _ that type of bond once. With two people. The man of fire, and… 

Keeping Tommy banned would have solved all of his problems now. That being said, keeping Tommy banned would have prevented these problems from ever even occurring at all, and without problems, attachment would’ve never formed. 

Attachment. 

The bane of his fucking existence. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, the only thing that kept him going. Attachment. It was the things that drove people out of bed in the morning, it was the thing that made people hope, it was the baseline for love that ran deeper than rivers, it seeped its way into every thought. Attachment. It was a blessing and a curse, something that, once upon a time, Dream knew well. 

Attachment should come naturally. And it did, for a while. Attachment was what drove him to make a server in the first place, and attachment was what made him invite more and more people and allow even more for others’ sake. Attachment was Minecraft horses, attachment was giggles and inside jokes, attachment was the crafting of a new nation, attachment was watching something grow from nothing into everything, and attachment was being the one to water the metaphorical seed, sing to it, watch it grow and wish it the best.

Dream had planted the seed of the SMP, and it was truly everyone else that catered to it. Dream was content being an omnipotent force of power that spectated from the sidelines, harvesting the fruits of their good labor, when things really took off. He’d been so involved once upon a time, he’d build the center of the server, the community house, with the people he loved more than anything else in this life. His two best friends. His two tethering strings of attachment that kept him level headed and drawn to the Earth. 

When Dream risked floating away, riding his ego off into the heavens, it was Sapnap and George that jerked him back down to reality with a hug, a smile, a laugh, a loving and well-meant, “Clay?”

That was really all it had taken, and it had been enough, for a while. Until the whispering of power, the siren call of  _ “but don’t you want more?” _ became impossible to drown out. Dream had began to cut his attachment, distance himself further, bit by bit, piece by piece. It had started with his own private house. It had moved to his horse. It had moved to material things that held sentimental value. It had moved to the community house. It had moved to the server itself.

Eventually, it had moved to his friends.

George and Sapnap. True forces of nature, true and absolute outliers of everything Dream could’ve ever possibly expected. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d ever actually been able to cut all ties of attachment. So, he did the next best thing. He made  _ them _ hate  _ him _ . He made  _ them _ cut the ties, he made  _ them _ do the drastic things he wasn’t strong enough to do. 

And it had worked. 

George had distanced himself altogether from any future wars, refusing to pick a side, building cottagecore houses while the world around him burned. If Dream hadn’t forced the thought out of his head and scorned himself for the mere tantalizing whisper of the beginnings of coherency forming, he’d have been reminded that that in of itself was what drew him to George. George’s funny little way of blocking out the things he never wanted to think about or deal with, in favor of doing what he wants, whatever it was that he wanted that day. 

George was the king of this world unwaveringly, as far as Dream was concerned. Sure, Eret had taken throne for a while, but Dream still regarded George as king. He’d been reminded of the things he’d told Eret:  _ “what do you think gives you power? Is it your crown? Is it the fact that you’re king? If respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, respect is nothing, right?” _

A crown, the fact that Eret was king; these things never mattered to Dream, not a single bit. It was just an added part of an agreement to win a war that, back then, George had been on his side for. Late nights under the stars in the kingdom he and Dream had built together and founded hand in hand were memories that he had of a king. He realized that perhaps the actual political status of the word wasn’t what he clung to when he thought of George being king. Maybe it was just because he knew George deserved to be treated as royalty. Maybe he’d always known yet refused to accept that George was better than him.

Much like how it was Tommy and Tubbo against himself, it had always been he and George against the world. He’d known Sapnap longer, but ultimately, the length at which he’d begun to know them to now meant so little when someone meant so much. It wasn’t that he preferred George to Sapnap necessarily, it was just that their bond, their quiet moments were something that Dream savored in a more than healthy amount. 

And it was only now, while Dream rots in a prison cell, that he’s realizing that it wasn’t simply fondness he was experiencing. He hated to face the alternative, but admitting it now to himself was the least of his concerns. He’d been in love with George, and he was unsure how he didn’t realize it sooner. The way his smile turned his legs to jelly, the way that his tears felt like an arrow straight through the heart, even through enchanted Netherite. 

The fact that he had to be the one to hurt him, was what plagued him on sleepless nights. That he’d been having a lot of lately. The only benefit to his current situation was lots of time to think, a luxury he didn’t get much of when he’d been too caught up in the heat of war and power. Sure, he was constantly thinking; thinking about his next move, but even more so thinking about the next move of his enemies. Thinking about allies, thinking about threats, thinking and strategizing about how to take down a server of over twenty by himself. 

He’d never thought about or dared consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, he’d never had to do it by himself in the first place. 

Hours turned to days, that turned to weeks, and for the first week, no one had bothered to visit. Understandably so, and Dream hadn’t wanted visitors anyway. On the rare occasion he wanted to speak, he found enjoyment in sassing Sam through the walls. He never offered a response, but it was a better way to feign interaction than talking to the faces that he squinted to see in the lava, or the shadows in the corners of the room. 

Being broken mentally was… horrible. And suddenly, he had so much more empathy for Tommy. It really did start off slow; at first, Dream would sass Sam and tell him all the ways he’d been wracking his brain to escape and blame it all on the others’ lack of design. Bragging forever about how no prison could ever hold him down, the fear it’d inflict in the SMP when he managed to free himself from a prison supposed to be impenetrable, the stain and sully it would put on Sam’s name. 

Days of that had begun to turn into Dream talking to Sam, and then pausing, like he expected a response. He never got one, and he never truly anticipated one. Sam never spoke to him, not even when he came to deliver him food. To have every aspect of his life monitored and controlled was quite the change, to say the least. 

“Sam, can’t you ever bring something other than raw potatoes?” Dream had asked with a snarky grin, and Sam had simply stared down at him with a cold, hard gaze, before tossing the vegetables at his feet over the blocks that barred him in. Eye-contact was never broken, and Dream’s cocky smile had began to slowly fall from his face as he watched the bridge retract again. He glanced down at the potatoes, his stomach angrily growling at him. He sighed, lifting the raw spud to his mouth before biting down and wincing. 

The taste was bland and earthy, but it had become a comfort. A steady constant. Twice a day, Sam would toss them at his feet. The potatoes themself were painfully average, but it was the only time that Dream got to see another human face. It was the only reassurance he had that someone was actually hearing him when he spoke. And that was what pushed him to begin talking without the sass, digging deep and more personal.

“Sam, it’s… it really is fucked up, those things that I did,” he spoke lowly, hunched in the corner. His head was against the hot obsidian, ignoring the way it was sure to leave a blister against the skin. His ceramic mask sat in his lap, his fingers brushing over the aged, battered and torn accessory. Each individual crack, each chip, every splotch of dirt or patch of scratches or buffs told a story; a story he was getting so sick of reliving alone in his mind.

“I guess all those things they say about having a lot of time to think in a cell are true,” Dream’s fingers idly tapped against the curve of the mask, and his eyes were fixated on the floor. He knew Sam prided himself on the tidiness and cleanliness of the prison, but sometimes Dream wished that there was at least one bug in the cell. At least something, some form of company. Even if Sam wasn’t a total neat freak, no bug could survive in this heat. He was beginning to wonder how  _ he _ was. “I can’t stop thinking about the shit I did.”

He took a shuddering breath, before he continued again. “I blew up the community house,” he began. “Why’d I do that? Not that you asked, but I’ll answer you anyway--it was the last thing that made me feel something.” He swallowed dryly, smacking his lips. Talking was something that he didn’t like doing, not when he didn’t have access to clean water all the time. Only when Sam provided it. “I built that with my friends. Well, more like, I built it and they tried to kill each other… such fond memories, you know? Not--not necessarily the trying to kill each other aspect, though that was kinda funny, but… no, I mean, like, for a while, they were helping me. They helped me, and we built it together, and it was the centerpiece of this massive server the three of us created together…”

Dream curled against the wall, his temple now pressed securely against the wall that he was facing with his body. He was slumped on his side, hugging his knees to his chest, body leaning into the crevice of corner where the two walls met. “From there, everything else just exploded. More and more people got involved, things were crazy, people started caring about things. It became less of a game, and more of a… a refuge, of sorts. I know all of us felt the same way. The SMP was so full of color, of light, of life, I… I don’t…”

The words that came next surprised even him: “I don’t know why I felt the need to ruin it.”

He let them hang in the air, before he tried again. “Power, I guess, sure. I couldn’t handle losing the iron grip that I held against everything. I don’t know why the status of operator wasn’t enough for me, I don’t know why the ability to type commands and have access to creative mode just wasn’t enough, I needed to have political control. Wilbur showed up, tried to make L’Manberg, tried to strip me of my control, and… something just clicked, Sam. I became a different man that day. I ventured down the dangerous path that wound me here, and I lost my identity along the way--fuck, I lost  _ everything _ along the way. Well, everything that mattered; I found that the bad stuff only clung to me more, the farther I went down the rabbit hole…”

“Why don’t people visit me, Sam?” Dream asked one night, laying in the middle of the cell on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Am I not allowed to have visitors, or did you  _ tell _ them not to come? You’re wonderful company, Sam, but I do miss the things from the outside world…” He joked lightly, and sighed at the lack of response. “I get it, if you told them not to come. I get what you’re trying to do now. The parallels, they’re… well, I’m sure you know. Or maybe you don’t. I don’t know if Tommy’s told anyone what I did--uh, actually… can you do me a favor? If it’s a ‘yes, Dream, anything for you!’, just stay silent.”

Silence was what followed.

“Wonderful, I knew I could count on you. Uh, could you make sure that Tommy is… talking to someone about stuff? Working through things? He may not wanna talk about it at first, but, someone, please get through to him.” His eyelids fluttered shut as the memories came flooding back to him. “Make sure he talks it through. He’s too young for this shit to fester and repress itself.”

More silence.

“Thanks, man. I knew you’d have my back.” Dream dropped the humor, and opened his eyes. “But seriously, Sam, that kid has a bright future. Don’t let me be the thing to take that away from him. How’s he and Tubbo doing? Are they still friends? I know things were rocky for a while, but they seemed to have talked things through by the time they came to confront me together. Make sure it stays that way. Don’t let anything break them up again. They have no idea how much it’ll hurt to be apart.”

After another few days of that, Dream felt like he was truly falling apart. The last strings of sanity had been clipped, and in the middle of the night (he only knew it was night because of the damned clock), he threw himself against the wall. His fingernails clawed at the obsidian, searching for any crevice, any crack, any way out. He slammed his body against the blocks again, letting out a distinguished cry of agony. He took another few sharp, hyperventilated breaths, before throwing himself again. He kicked at the blocks, clawed at them until his fingers bled, and until he heard the familiar shuffle of pistons. 

He glanced over, and the lava was retreating, and Sam was approaching. Probably with potatoes. “Sam,” Dream croaked out from where he sat collapsed in the middle of the cell, limbs shaking. “Please tell me you brought something more than potatoes.”

Sam threw them at his feet, before the Netherite blocks lowered. Dream’s eyes widened as Sam stepped inside of the cell with him. He’d never done that before. “Sam?” He whispered. The man strode towards him, kneeling down in front of him. 

Of all the time being in this prison, Dream thought it was impossible to cry. Water, left idle for too long, evaporated in here. He thought tears were out of the question, what with how dehydrated he was anyway. It was like he was teaching himself how to have emotions again. He’d forgotten that he, too, was  _ capable _ of tears. 

Sam threw his arms around Dream, and Dream went stiff into the touch. He can’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. His eyes were burning, and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder and let out a broken sob. He was about to move his arms to wrap around Sam in reciprocation, before realizing that Sam was holding both of his wrists behind his back. 

No, not Sam.  _ Sam _ pulled away and stood up, brushing off his uniform and glaring down at Dream. Dream, who was a crying mess. Dream, who’d finally cracked. The  _ chains _ that were bound around his wrists began to pull him backwards, and Dream cried out again. “Sam! I- I’ve been good! Why are you doing this?”

The chains pulled him against the back wall, and then lowered him to his knees. They were tight, not an ounce of slack, and they were painfully restrictive. Emotions were swirling inside of his chest, switching rapidly. First, it was rage. “Why don’t you ever speak?” He seethed, “it’s the least you can do!”

When Sam continued to stand and stare, Dream felt the hurt and betrayal taking over and bubbling out of his chest. “I just wanted someone to fucking talk to,” his voice shook as the tears continued to drip down his chin. “You couldn’t even give me that. I get what I did was bad, but was it worthy of this? This is going to be my life for… what, forever?” Dream let out a broken laugh that devolved into sobs, and he hunched over. “Whatever, Sam. Just get the fuck out.”

And Sam did.

It was after that day, that Dream truly stopped caring about anything. The chains finally gave him some slack after a few hours of Dream being completely still, but he still didn’t move. The potatoes began to pile up all around him, his only food source. It was the last thing he wanted now. 

Malnourished, dehydrated, and forever uncaring if he woke up to see another day; that is when George and Sapnap decided to rear their heads.

Besides running through Dream’s head constantly, he figured they’d never actually come to visit him. But when he heard the shuffling of pistons after Sam had already delivered potatoes and water twice today, he knew something was out of the ordinary.

He lifted his head, the movement making his muscles scream out in agony. He’d spent so long hunched over on his knees, head bowed, that any little movement felt like torture. The lava was gone, and he closed his eyes to relish briefly in the blast of “cool” air (less cool, more non-scorchingly hot) against his cheeks with a sigh. When his eyes opened again and he saw two silhouettes standing on the bridge, he squinted. 

“Did you bring a friend this time, Sam?” Dream let out a tiny chuckle, hearing the clicks of the dispenser signifying the lava was moving back down. Once it completely covered the entrance, the Netherite blocks dropped, and the two stepped in. And when they did, they stole the breath from Dream’s lungs. “Fuck.”

It was silent for a few minutes, their expressions unreadable. George looked more sympathetic than Sapnap did; Sapnap was stone-faced and his eyes were cold and cloudy as he started down at Dream, and George just looked like a whirlwind of emotions. Understandably so.

“Look at you.”

The voice caught Dream off-guard, and he lifted his head further to the source, Sapnap. “You used to be so great, Dream. Everyone respected you. Everyone looked up to you. Everyone considered you a leader. And now… well,  _ now,” _ Sapnap gestured towards him with a scoff. “Now look at you.”

“Sapnap,” George murmured, hardly audible. His eyes never left Dream, even as he addressed the other, “don’t.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t’, George? This is why we’re here. You said--  _ you said _ you wanted to tear him a new one! Why are we waiting around?”

“I didn’t expect him to look like…  _ this.” _

“How’d you expect him to look, George? He’s been rotting in a sauna prison cell for four weeks, that’s why we waited this long, was so he’d be incapable of getting inside of your head again--”

“I know!” George’s arms wrapped around himself, and Dream felt his heart quiver in his chest. He knew that stance. The stance that read  _ I’m scared, _ without saying a word. “I know what we agreed on… I just thought I’d be ready to see him like this. I thought he’d deserve it. I thought he’d still be…”

“Bad?” Sapnap offered knowingly. George gave a small nod of his head. “He still is bad, George. He wouldn’t be in here if he wasn’t the scum of the Earth.”

Dream’s gaze averted, and he gazed down.  _ “I can hear you,” _ he wanted to tell them.  _ “It still hurts.” _

But he didn’t say a word. 

“Hi, Dream.”

The first thing that was spoken to him came from George. Dream didn’t lift his head again. He didn’t want to see the look on George’s face, no matter what it might be. Pity, sympathy, pain, fear, sorrow… all of the above. 

“You’ve, ah… looked better,” George’s hand rubbed his arm, and Sapnap wrapped an arm protectively around his small and shaking frame for support. “I’m sure you’ve felt better, too. You’re so…” He trailed off. “What are they feeding you?”

“Potatoes,” Dream rasped out, throat hot and inflamed and raspy from over 24 hours without water. “Raw fucking potatoes.” Dream caught George’s wince from the corner of his eye, and he sighed. 

“Sam gave me this, to give you…” George pulled a cold water bottle out from behind his back. “Where are… where are your hands?”

“Tied behind me,” Dream mumbled. “Sam usually has to force me to drink it anyway.”

“You don’t want to drink?” George’s expression morphed into pained confusion, “why? You’ll die, in this kind of heat, without water.”

“That’s the point,” he grinned. It was a broken sight, and he met George’s eyes. “Why the hell should I care whether or not I’m on this planet tomorrow? If it’s just another day of this?”

“He’s trying to manipulate you, George,” Sapnap commented in a stern voice. “Don’t let him get in your head, George.”

George glanced at the Texan, before looking back at Dream. “Can you drink it? Physically? Like, can-- can you reach it if I set it in front of you?”

It was then that it occurred to Dream that the way they were envisioning him right now, was like a wild animal. Afraid to get too close, or they’d be bitten or mauled, somehow. Even though Dream hardly had the strength to move his head, they, or at least George, feared that he’d have one last ace up his sleeve. One last trick to pull. One last sudden victory.

Dream, too, wished that there was some way that could possibly be true.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “I can drink it if you set it in front of me.”

George knelt down, pressing the bottle against the floor and rolling it over to Dream. It hit Dream’s knee, and he jolted at the sudden coldness, before relaxing again. He didn’t make any moves to reach forward and drink it, though. He just let it sit there, and he watched the condensation drops begin to materialize like magic in front of him. The last thing he expected to hear was the  _ laughter _ that poured from George.

“You know, I shouldn’t even be doing this much for you,” George said, his expression finally morphing into one of anger. “I don’t have to do anything for you, I don’t owe you anything. I didn’t even want to come visit, I waited for weeks until I knew you’d be vulnerable enough to  _ listen _ to what I had to say. Did you know that, Dream? Did you know you never fucking listened?”

Dream’s shoulders sagged as his head bowed again. He was wondering whether or not George had it in him enough to finally tear into him. It appeared he did. And Dream was glad for it. Not glad that he was the one George was tearing into, but he’d always been afraid that if someone ever wronged him, George wouldn’t be able to stand up for himself.

He supposed this proved that fear wrong, even if he hated that it’d come to this at all. But he was glad that if anything, this had pushed George to new breaking points, to new limits. Now he knew how strong he was, how capable he was of persevering through anything. It made Dream happy to know George was being taken care of by himself.

“When I spoke, you stared right through me, like I was never there at all,” George continued, “or you’d give me some half-assed excuse. If I wasn’t singing your praises, then you didn’t want anything to do with me. You dethroned me, put someone who meant nothing to you in charge, and for what? To win a war? Politics and power, Dream, that’s all you’ve ever cared about. I don’t know why I ever thought you cared about me.”

“You took Beckerson from me because you said that I couldn’t handle it. That I was a bad fish parent. That I was irresponsible,” Sapnap chimed in, taking confident strides forward. He knelt right in front of Dream, grabbing his chin and jerking his head up. His neck popped, and Dream’s face contorted in brief pain.  _ “Look _ at me when I’m talking to you, asshole. You always stared into our souls to intimidate us. The  _ least _ you can do is pay us the same respect.”

“Even now!” George suddenly blurted, “I want to defend you! I want to tell Sapnap not to hurt you, but why should I? You deserve everything we can give you now, and more. Sam told us we couldn’t rough you up too badly, ‘cause apparently people still need you for something.”

“It’s pathetic,” Sapnap seethed, “when Tommy threatened to kill you, you pulled the only redeemable thing about you out of your ass. You’ve been saving it, haven’t you? Been saving that knowledge because you knew that eventually something would blow up in your face, and everyone who hates you would be in the same room, and not even you could take all of them at once. You saved it for a hole you knew you couldn’t dig yourself out of. How does it feel, Dream, to finally have met your match?”

Dream stared at Sapnap, his eyes flicking between the two of his own. “What do you want from me, Sapnap? Really?” Sapnap’s gaze hardened, and Dream continued to speak. “Do you want me to admit how terrible of a person I am? Because I already know that. I already have. Sam could’ve told you that. So why are you here? You’re not the type of person to rub someone’s failures in their face.”

“See, you’re different, Dream,” Sapnap stood back up and moved back over to George, who needed him more. He wrapped an arm around his waist, and George let out a shuddering sigh. “I want nothing more than to crush you under my shoe like a bug, and scuff you into the pavement. You hurt so many fucking people, and you need to wallow in it for the rest of your life. You fucking deserve it.”

Dream glanced away again, staring down at the hot obsidian. What was he supposed to say to that? He knew that there was nothing he could do change his mind. It was all too far gone. They’d never go back to the way things were before. Those days were over. It was like grieving; he needed to let it wash over him so he could move on.

This was the second time that Dream had been surprised by the tears that sprang to his eyes. The reality that he’d truly lost the only two pillars that kept him grounded to Earth, the only two people he cared about, was really setting in. And it was hard. It hurt.

“Look at him. He’s  _ crying.” _ Sapnap’s gaze never softened. He folded his arms over his chest and glared down at him. “I didn’t know you had emotions anymore, Dream. You’ve just turned into a fucking monster. I wish I’d never met you. Not--”

Dream was equally as surprised to hear the tears rising in the other’s throat. He lifted his head to look at him, seeing the tears well in his eyes. Dream swallowed back the urge to console him, like he had used to. “Not because,” Sapnap continued shakily, “of the terrible shit that you’d done. A lot of it didn’t affect me. Some of it did, most of it didn’t. I wish I’d never met you because… because I would’ve never fallen in love with a faceless man who only ever meant to hurt me, and destroy that which everyone else loved, too.” 

“I’m fucked up, Dream, I can forgive a lot of the shit you did. I can try to do mental backflips, I can try to rationalize, because I loved you, and because you’d given me no reason to believe that you were a bad person. When I finally did see that you were doing wrong, my first instinct was to defend you, hope that… my love could turn you from this path. Show you something else better. But…” Sapnap shook his head, a single tear streaking his cheek and sizzling as it hit the obsidian beside Dream’s knees. “But I can’t forgive you for this. I loved you, Dream. A part of me still does. But I’m done.”

Sapnap turned away, and Dream could practically see the way his face immediately contorted as hardly held back tears streaked his face. “George?” he murmured, “ready?”

“Um… you go ahead, Sapnap. Give me a few more minutes with him alone.”

Dream’s heart sank, and he didn’t move from his hunched over place. His own tears hissed as they fell against obsidian floors, and it was silent aside from that as Sapnap waited for the lava to clear his path, before he stepped onto the bridge and left. 

The lava draped back around the cell like the world’s hottest blanket, and there stood George, and there knelt Dream. The silence stretched before them for minutes, before George slowly sat down in front of him. 

George was very different from Sapnap, in every regard, but especially when he was upset. Sapnap lashed out, burned things to the ground, screamed and made it everyone’s problem. George, in almost every situation, hated anger. If he was angry, he’d turn it in on himself rather than outwards to anyone else. That’s why it was impossible to know what he was thinking, right now, as he sat silently in front of him.

“I love you.”

Dream nearly choked. His head sprang up, and he stared at George, tears still present on his cheeks. George’s face was completely blank, and his gaze held onto Dream’s once their eyes met. He was so close, yet so far, and not at all in the way that Dream wanted.

He’d imagined George saying those words for years, long before the SMP was made. Late nights, laying on blankets on the grass, staring up at the stars. Giggling at constellations, cracking jokes, huddling together for warmth in a way that blurred the lines between platonic and romantic. 

The days that George would just say that everything was “too much”, and he’d cry into Dream’s arms as Dream held him close to his chest, combing his fingers through his hair. The days that Dream would finish streaming to find George had cooked dinner and baked a pie for the two of them to eat while they watched movies together. All the things they did that made Dream fall in love with him, yet George never said a word. 

“Did you know that?”

Dream simply stared, before slowly shaking his head. “N...no. I hoped, I never knew.”

“I tried to show you, in every way I could. You were my world. When we started this SMP together, I thought it would be our world. Our empire. Of course other people would join, but… we did it together. We always did things together.” George’s gaze was distant, yet Dream couldn’t look away. “I wanted to be together.”

“You’re using past tense,” Dream pointed out miserably. 

“Did you expect me not to?” George’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed, and Dream knew he’d made a mistake. “Do you expect me to sit here and say I’d still do all of these things with you? I didn’t use past tense, Dream; I said ‘I love you’. But that doesn’t matter now, and you know why?” George’s voice broke and quivered, and it burned Dream more than lava ever could. “Because my emotions never did matter to you. I could’ve said ‘I love you’ a thousand times, and you’d never have cared. My emotions didn’t matter, just like I, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter. And if I ever did matter, it was because of power. It was because I was king. But was I ever, really? Was I ever king? Was I ever in control?” 

“I took orders from you. I used my “power” to help you rule. You gave up your power so the people would listen to me, but I never stopped listening to you. You just passed the torch, but you still taught me how to hold it, and when. You taught me how to rule a kingdom, but you didn’t stop there. You told me what to do, continuously. You never let me go to do it on my own. And I was okay with that, because I wanted to do everything together. I never let myself see that you were just manipulating me like a pawn in your sick game.”

“So, yeah. I love you, Dream. I love you, but where did that get me? I love you, and it feels like a part of me is still attached to you. I’ve felt like I was the one burning alive in this prison the whole time, right alongside you. This is the type of thing I’d want to do together most. I never wanted you to suffer alone, Dream, if we were going to get locked up, I thought we’d do it together. I would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth, had you let me. But even that wasn’t good enough for you.”

Dream let the words sink in, and he had nothing left to say. He just bowed his head again, and let George continue to speak. He was right. He was so, so right. Dream deserved every second of this.

“I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to see you like this, because I know it’d awaken that part of me that just wants to help you. That part of me still exists, the one that would do anything for you. Even when I know how terrible you are, even when I know that you, right now, are just putting on a show. You’re just pretending to be weak so that I’ll cave and help you again, isn’t that right?”

_ No. _

“It’s not going to work, Dream, not this time, not ever again,” George spoke, his gaze finally beginning to harden in anger. “I’m not going to let myself fall prey to you anymore. I love you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t teach myself how to stop. Even if I had the slightest sliver of hope that you’d get released and we could try this, if I threw my reputation away to date the criminal, the worst man on the SMP, if I risked it all for you--which, once upon a time, I would’ve done!--you’d only ever use me again. So, I’m teaching myself how to stop loving you, one day at a time. This was my closure, Dream. This was me getting everything off my chest, in a place where for  _ once _ , you can do nothing but listen to me.”

“This is finally the only place that you can’t interrupt me anymore. That you can’t weave your words into the sweetest honey that keeps pulling me in, this is the one place that you can’t trick me anymore. It hurts to see you like this, Dream. It really does. But it hurts more to follow you around like a duckling, hoping that my love alone can bring some humanity through that thick skull of yours. So I’m done too, Dream. This is the last you’ll see of me.”

That was the sentence that sent panic plummeting through Dream’s veins.

“What do you mean? The last I’ll see of you, like, ever? All those years that we’ve known each other, the years of growing together, practically becoming the same person--all of that is just done? This is it? It’s over?”

“It’s over, Dream,” George’s voice shook as he stood up, staring down at him. “Why would I come to see you again? Why would I give you more chances to twist my head around and make me fight your battles again? I only came to see you this time because I knew that Sapnap would be there for me, and I knew that he’d reinforce my points. But in the end, I… knew that I’d regret not telling you all this in private. So, this is that. My last courteous act to you.”

“You can’t just… leave me,” Dream whispered, staring up at him with wide, frightful eyes. He felt like a doe in the headlights, seeing the oncoming train, but not being able to do a thing to stop it. “George. Please. You’re all I have. You’re all I’ve  _ ever _ had.”

_ “Stop,” _ the older pleaded, his voice quivering. “Stop talking, Dream. Please. I can’t listen to you anymore. I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not letting you and your silvertongue change it again.”

“George, I can’t live without you.”

The sentence was spoken before he thought, and he stared up at him. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it was the most honest and sincere thing he ever could’ve said. George knew it, too. 

But it wasn’t enough.

“Then find a way.”

With that, George turned towards the lava that separated him from the rest of the world. “You know, I once begged you to just tell me that you hated me, Dream. Even then, you never said it. You’ve always had me wrapped around your finger. I thought I was so helpless, all this time… but I’m done. I’m walking away. Thanks for… some good memories, and fun nights. Goodbye, Dream.”

And that was it.

The next few days were miserable, to say the least. Dream didn’t speak, only ate when Sam forced him to, only drank when Sam held the bottle to his lips and didn’t remove it until he swallowed down the whole contents. He was living for nothing, and only breathing because he was incapable of holding his breath long enough that he’d pass out. Turns out, it’s actually impossible. Your survival instinct kicks in and forces you to take a gasp right before the end.

How insufferable. 

Days and weeks passed, and Dream hadn’t spoken to a single soul. In the beginning, at least he’d had Sam. Even if he never spoke back. But now, Dream couldn’t even bring himself to talk to him. The childish flicker of betrayal still stung somewhere deep down, and he didn’t bother thinking about it beyond that. 

When the lava ceased flowing and a silhouette came riding across the sweltering lake, Dream sighed and prepared himself to have to eat and drink. But the closer it got, Dream squinted. The figure was shorter than Sam, and skinnier, too.

“Hi, Dream.”

And British.

“Tommy?” Dream rasped as the teen stepped into his cell. “What are you…?”

“I get it,” Tommy interrupted. “I get that you did a lot of bad things. One of the worst things, arguably, being all the shit you’ve done to me. Which fucking sucked, by the way, and you’re entirely still an asshole,” he informed, and Dream could do nothing but give a small, helpless nod, “but I think this is a bit much. I had to see for myself, and I can indeed safely say that this is absolutely too extreme. You’re an asshole. Like, literally the worst. But even you don’t deserve  _ this.” _

Dream stared at him, swallowing dryly. “You look worse than I did in exile, and, my god, that’s saying something. I mean, fuck.” Tommy whistled, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “But I did come here for a reason. I was thinking about it, and, uh… in exile, one of the only good things that I had was that you came to visit me every day. You were a righteous prick, and manipulative scum, but at that time, I didn’t know, or care. All I cared about was that there was someone coming to visit me everyday. Someone that I could talk to. You haven’t really had that. And the people that did come to visit you, pretty much just showed up to say they never wanted to see you again, so… the chances of them coming back are pretty fuckin’ slim, hey pal?”

Dream supposed he deserved this, too. 

“What I’m saying is… you’ve done bad things. You’ve royally fucked up. But that doesn’t mean that people can never change. From what Gogs and Sap told me, you weren’t doing good. And that alone, to me, is like you’ve changed. Because, I mean, before, you’d never let anyone see you like this. You’d never let anyone see you fail. You’re at the lowest of low, Dream, and I get that.” Tommy slowly sat down in front of Dream, resting his hands in his lap as he stared at him. “I’ve been there. And even though it was in the worst way possible, you were there for me. I believe that you deserve a second chance. So I’m going to try to help you. If you’d want that.”

“Yes,” Dream croaked out. “Yes, please.”

“Then… we start now.” Tommy stared Dream in the eye with a gentle smile. Dream took it all in; Tommy’s soft blonde hair, the forgiveness that glistened in his blue eyes, the sparkle of metal braces that bounced off the walls like when the sun hits a phone screen the right way. Tommy was such a bright, intelligent, and genuinely kind kid. He had  _ such _ a bright future ahead of him, just like Dream always knew he would.

He was strong, too. Not just anyone would be able to bounce back so easily from the shit Tommy endured. Bouncing back, recovering, getting over trauma was one thing. A very hard thing, Dream knew, but it was one battle alone. Tommy had gone the extra mile. Tommy had learned to forgive the person that gave him that trauma. Forgive them, and help them. 

Tommy was so much more than people gave him credit for.

And he stayed true to his promise. Every single day, Tommy would come to visit Dream. After a while, Sam started giving him the food and water to just bring with him. Tommy would coax and encourage Dream to eat and drink, and on the days that he couldn’t, or didn’t feel up to it, Tommy would help him (in a much nicer and more gentle manner than Sam). Sometimes he’d even manage to sneak Dream things from the outside world; he once brought him a cookie. Dream didn’t even eat it, he just kept it on his podium by the open books (whose pages have now entirely curled up, and he’d lost count somewhere along the way of just how long it took) as as gentle reminder that healing was happening. Healing was possible.

And if healing was possible, then maybe not all was lost.

After a while, Dream started to laugh at Tommy’s jokes. After an even longer while, Dream would joke back with him, and laughter would echo throughout the walls of the prison. Tommy spent more time inside the prison than outside, and Dream was so grateful. Tommy, the one that he’d fought against for the entirety of knowing him, the kid that he’d landed himself in prison trying to destroy, the kid he’d torn apart bit by bit in exile, was single handedly saving him from himself. 

Dream couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to say this sooner.

As the lava encased the two of them again, Dream lifted his head to give him direct eye-contact. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, Dre?” Tommy pulled a book out of his inventory. “Oh! I forgot, I managed to get you a new book today, I--”

“Please, this is important.”

Tommy tilted his head, sitting down in front of him like he always did. “Sorry. Go on?”

“Tommy, I’m so fucking sorry,” Dream suddenly breathed.

Tommy just blinked.

“I’m sorry, for everything I did to you. I don’t know why I didn’t say it sooner,” Dream’s eyes moved downwards to stare at the obsidian. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tommy. You’re such a bright kid, you never deserved any of this. And now, I don’t deserve the things that you’re doing for me to try to save my sorry ass. This whole situation is so fucked up, but… there’s nothing I could ever do to even begin to repay you for what you’re doing for me. You’re incredible, Tommy. There’s never been a stronger, kinder, more intelligent, funny, bright sixteen year old. I’m sorry that no one appreciates you the way that you deserve.”

Tommy stared at him, before smiling again. “Dream, it’s alright. I’d forgiven you long ago. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. You really should open this book.”

Tommy passed him the book, and Dream’s unchained hands reached forward to take it. Tommy gasped. “Dream, your hands!”

“Yeah, Sam let me roam free again, since you’ve been doing so much good work with me, he thinks I’m not a ‘danger to myself’ anymore. So… he let me have my hands back,” he chuckled, setting the book in his lap. “Is this… a joke?”

“No, Dream. Open it.”

Dream let out a shuddering sigh as his fingertips caressed the leather cover of the book. It was still cold, still holding onto the coldness from the night air before it’d entered the prison. It was comforting. At least the world outside was still intact. At least everything wasn’t burning to the ground like Dream felt it was. Slowly, his fingers slid underneath and lifted it. 

It was a picture book. Only, the pictures were pictures that actually fucking mattered to him. A screenshot of Sapnap, George and Dream building the community house. Then on the other page, a screenshot of them renovating it. He turned the page, and there was a picture of he and George in a boat, rowing along the land before the SMP was even really properly established, just as a stupid joke. 

The whole book was full of pictures that tugged at Dream’s heartstrings, in a good way. Pictures of Spirit, pictures of the discs, pictures from Dream’s declaration of war speech to L’Manberg, all of it was right there, laid out in front of him, in a material item that he could keep with him in the cell.

He lifted his head to stare at Tommy, and he gave him a quivering smile. “Tommy…”

“Do you like it? I was almost worried that maybe it was too soon or something,” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward laugh. “I can take it back, if it’s like, a bad thing instead of a good one, I just thought--”

Dream flung himself at Tommy. His arms were wrapped around the teen, and he pressed his face against his shoulder. Tommy was stiff for a moment, before slowly wrapping his arms around the other in turn. “Are you okay?”

“Tommy…” Dream let out a shaky laugh. “Tommy, I’ve never felt better.”

**Author's Note:**

> there's really only one thing i want to say--
> 
> i named this fic what it was, not because of the love that george and sapnap showed him. i named it that because of the love that tommy showed him. platonic love, sometimes, can cut even deeper than anything romantic ever could. that's what i wanted to show in this fic. this fic, in NO WAY is a tommy/dream ship fic. PLEASE do not misunderstand. their relationship is strong, but strictly platonic and almost brotherly. thank you <33
> 
> please leave a comment, and come say hi on twitter if you'd like! @mitikune_
> 
> love you all! take care!<33


End file.
